Monday, June 30, 2008
Nonsense
I translated Sukumar Ray's HJBRL (Ha Ja Ba Ra La) into English from its original Bengali a while ago. He was the father of Satyajit Ray. They are part of a long line of geniuses. You can check it out here if you're interested in Lewis Carrollish characters and silly rhymes.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
History Today
looks still broken
Roll up those cricket chirps into
one more fat cigarette
hanging onto her two ashtray shoulders
The plants grow tall here
and the wind grows colder
Every day feels like Tuesday
or a red scarf in the summertime
When the migraine scent of sweaty leather
weighs heavy on my wrist.
The other bench has been empty for years
Not cold, just inconsequential
-geoff.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
ye olde love poem
I see Russia in the early light
with its onion tops veiled
in its ice milk mornings.
I see baby flowers bursting forth from your laughter
and I’m engulfed, enraged,
Overcome with a honeyed envy.
You smile and the czar collapses
You smile and the poet rejoices
Time clutches at you, stickier than do I
we both want to tie you down to this europe
but that's of no use.
"Look it's colorless" you say.
I look but,
I cannot see through those brilliant eyes
downcast but defensive
I cannot relate to your baffling mind
but I have every incentive.
You say it is for the doves
for the good of the movies,
I avoid the word love.
“Consider the benefits” you say.
I consider but,
libertarian municipialism
just doesn’t do anything for me.
Stroke your chin with your ivory fingers
and let your clothes down from that wirehanger body
quick look- updown stop at the toes
Clear smells linger under my nose.
Oh how the wind blows all through my head
while I listen to all the words that you've not yet said.
Soon the chickens will run through the courtyard,
and it’s a pity that
such musings of the mind
cannot be expressed with such dismal tools.
“What the fuck?” you say with the a most confused expression
“Since when did you start talking beautiful?”
I try to talk but,
tangerine trees burst forth and I’m rendered speechless
And then you smile
And then I say
"Oh who needs god oh who wants love"
And the snow drifts down all the while.
-Jayinee
Monday, June 9, 2008
FUTURE & NATURE
choke navigation. Hand over
The strung together musical
Instrument audiences. The bee
Is the butterfly
That makes noise.
-
Drink a thousand clocks. The wave is
Drunk in dormancy. Spatial spring is the
Unflustered god. Tree tops caught with hair.
Finding misery in the reduction old
Intonations are a little deaf.
The speed of light is not socially mobile.
Rise to the sky to advance.
-
Nine revolutions out of ten thousand also.
Replace the youth head. It was
About to dark. And
It was darkening. A presence
Is solemnly moldy. The situation is
Language. Language
Is all pleasant. How doesn’t a body
And mind piece depend on.
-
Dust has a creativeness. Really pay
Attention to the congenial now. Now
Between future & nature phase on. As
For me I damper my best for those
Who have tried. Only then respectability
Has sustainability. Purely blue colors
Market pools & windows now.
-
The neck is the obvious vessel
For grain. But now usually smoking
Of chlorine. Wind awakes liquor
In the surfaces of water. The recent
Return looks like an extinct heron. Intrinsic
to urban wall people. Last year
the green building is white this year.
-
The next causes the human
To appear slow behind. Waste
Articles may not be ritual but
are warm warm warm. Wait
For a congenital seed. Although
There are thieves for human emotion.
Controlling your breathing will
Slightly prolong life.
-
Empty murders the potential. Since
The four directions are merely illusions
Go. The good cloud is in fact
the travel that delivers the traveler
on top of a lake under a boat. No
matter that the wave is drunk
and the chaotic whereabouts
of a flower in a field.
The doubt is in lake days. Who
Knew these in a parking lot.
-
ac
Daniel Richter is so punk rock
Eight Paintings OR Phosphorescence
Das Recht-
Here we are beating a horse,
Raskolnikov cries!
do not imagine our innocence
to be filed away.
You've seen it, seen it
the manuscripts left behind
undress, shoot bullets through your breast
peering into a forest,
here is a white sky.
*
Still-
A nosferatu Ophelia floats by us
black swans drift in black water
she is bloating by, glowing by
spindly tree never hides
our glowing hides
*
Those who are here again-
Do you see the cubed dog?
The thunder within?
Come join!
We are burning shit!
We are cooking meat!
A yellow egg in nest house
the dog faced owner peers
into the pyre of white smoke
fire reflecting
neon paranoia.
*
Dog Planet-
Police state fun
thermal wave scene
in the darkness
only the heat rises
dogs and bayonets
like statues of safety
in masks and in guns.
*
Pink Flag-
Dogs you worry that rag
beasts in rear hoof
kick dent chest
you men in cloth
your teeth are showing
in a blue strip mall
*
Fun de Siècle-
Let's meet at the gas station
lit up like a cloud
an orgy of such solitude
neo-zombification baby
in the cities and now
let's lay like the dead
and roll
and play
and love that structure
of light we've made.
Don't forget guy you
are still alone
underneath
all that neon glow.
*
Punktum-
Something explosive
a concert? Or camp?
Of police or brutes
with the need to eat,
to consume
graffiti piling high
on turpentine fumes.
Rain sparkling capirote
Klan or Nazarenos
This crowd is so hungry
we'll swallow all your symbols.
*
Oriente-
Jesters schlumped down
in Picassan repose
ping pong ball weariness
behind those closed doors
Blackbird in hand
one foot with no shoe
our masks are still on
our masks are all plastered
with phantasmagoric glue.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Some Notes on What Happened at the Bus Stop
and the Transverse Theory.
French girls smoke cigarettes
and candy smoke fills our lungs, but
our colors are lonely, huddled from cold sunshine.
She kisses. He wipes his lips.
Diesel fuel is bearable under the shade,
like polka-dotted hunchbacks, bro
--fist pumpin fist bump--
speak California drawl to me.
Queer bus stops and pitched
assaults on three bones all
cease with a question.
It's scrunch time inside this drafty bullet
so get ready to answer or scoot.
When is our last day
-geoff.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Speaking of Brautigan....
Onward Pillows!
Pillows
are harmful if swallowed.
A Thoughtful Wino
She sits on many park benches
Looks at the people around her
And wonders aloud
“Are you my murderer?”
-Jayinee